New Day, New Demon
by MyPatronusWearsATrenchcoat
Summary: Sam and Dean are in Tennessee, on a retrieval mission for Castiel; he needs them to bring him a pendant that holds a reservoir of angelic power. But things don't go according to plan. A demon that even Cas has never seen before attacks, and Dean is faced with a choice that could cause devastation to the Winchesters... Or the rest of the world. This is my first fanfiction.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi, people. This is my first Fanfic, in case you didn't catch it in the summary. I've been writing this one for a little while and now finally have begun to post it. It's still a WIP, so I still have some storywriting to do. So I'll get back to that; meanwhile, enjoy!**

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><p>The black 1967 Chevrolet Impala roared down the darkened Tennessee road. Hints of fading light shone in the sky over the trees behind the car as it meandered up the winding forest path in the foothills of the Smokies. Another typical night for the Winchesters. From the passenger seat, Sam asked "So… what exactly does Cas need us to do?" Dean rolled his eyes and sighed. "I've told you already – we need to retrieve some kind of angelic pendant that can destroy certain powerful demons." Sam's brow furrowed. "Why would they hide it in some random, old, creepy mansion in the middle of the forest? That's sort of asking for trouble." Dean shook his head. "Cas said that it had needed to be hidden in a mortal place where nothing supernatural could trigger its powers, and thereby alert every demon within fifty miles to its presence. Unfortunately," He continued, "the angels sorta lost track of it too, over the few centuries it's been gone, and have only now located the faintest reverberations of the pendant's power. And obviously they can't go in themselves, be—" "Because they'd attract demons, possibly start a war over the thing, I remember," Sam picked up, "So they have to send mortals to grab it for them." "Exactly." They drove on in silence for a few more miles, until the Impala rounded a bend and a huge, dilapidated manor came into view, sitting on a rocky terrace at the end of the stretch of road they were on. Just looking at the place was depressing, solemn and lonely, not a single light to be seen, save for the faint moon becoming visible above. As they pulled onto the drive leading up to the house's entrance, Both Dean and Sam couldn't help but crane their necks just to keep the whole house in sight. "Damn," Dean breathed, "This is gonna be <em>so<em> much fun- combing through a huge, old-as-hell house in the woods, looking for an angelically powerful pendant that we're not even sure we know what it looks like." The car pulled to a stop in the gravel drive at the front of the house, and the two front car doors simultaneously opened. The Winchesters immediately made for the trunk, each grabbing a salt-filled gun, a flashlight, and other miscellaneous supplies they'd need for searching the house. Five minutes later they stood at the heavily boarded front door, Sam waiting a few steps behind Dean, who was looking for places where the door might be weak enough for him to kick it in. When he found a spot that looked good enough, he straightened. "Sam," he said gruffly, turning briefly to face him, "When we're done here, we're gonna get us some pie." Sam sighed, but couldn't help grinning. With that and a deep breath, Dean turned back around and kicked down the rotting wood with a splintering crack, and they were in.

The foyer alone took fifteen minutes. Dust-layered furniture was strewn about all around the entry hall, almost as if someone, or something, had torn through it years ago. Chairs and delicate, spindly tables lay on their sides all around, and a velvet loveseat had been flipped upside-down in front of the door at the end of the corridor, blocking the doorway to the living room. After searching through the chairs and under the carpeting, Sam dragged the couch aside so they could continue. After taking twenty more minutes to repeat this process in the living room, taking care to search all the furniture and even the crystal-studded chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the two brothers went through the door that led off to the right of the room. Pausing in the doorway, they found themselves facing a corridor with doors spaced along both walls, and a stairway at the back. "You check here, I'll get up there," said Dean automatically, pointing his flashlight beam at the staircase. He hurried down the hall and up the stairs, kicking up clouds of dust as he went, stopping on the upstairs landing. It wasn't much different up here – a corridor with doors on both sides. He counted seven doors in all; four on the left side, three on the right. Entering the first door on the left, Dean slowly let out a breath. The room had furniture scattered everywhere, just like the foyer; most of the furniture was splintered and broken, and only a single table remained upright. Of course he'd chosen to search up here, certain that the job would be at least a little easier than downstairs. _I'll bet Sammy's having a great time searching down _there, Dean thought to himself. Rolling his eyes, even though he knew no one could see it, Dean began to comb through the room; this was going to take a while.


	2. Chapter 2

Three rooms and an hour and fifteen minutes of ceaseless searching later, Dean was still on the left side of the corridor. This room, the master bedroom, had so many drawers and crevices that Dean wasn't sure he'd ever make it to the other side of the hall. The first place he checked was under the bed – lots of dust and coughing, but nothing else. He made his way around the room for half an hour, checking in all the little corners, but was still greeted with nothing of worth. After he'd made his way around the entire perimeter of the room, Dean turned, doing a 360 to look for anything else to search, and found himself facing a huge cabinet in the dead center of the room. The thing was so huge that Dean was surprised that he hadn't noticed it before. It looked like one of those old, fancy wardrobes that medieval princesses kept their dresses in. Hurrying over to it, he flung the doors wide, but the cabinet was disappointingly spotless, save for a thick layer of dust lining the bottom. He knelt, looking under the wardrobe, but found the same result. Dean stood, and looked the cabinet over – it wasn't just standing here in the middle of the room for no reason, was it? As his eyes scanned the cabinet and swept over the top – the top. Dean immediately reached his arm over the top of the wardrobe-sized cabinet, brushing over the smooth wooden surface. His fingers touched a thin cord, and he immediately snagged it and dragged it towards the edge. Dean jerked his hand down, bringing the leather cord over the side of the cabinet, and brought it to eye level. Clenched in his fist, dangling from the cord, was a palm-sized, teardrop shaped pendant made of a substance that looked like glass. The only thing that distinguished that it held immense power was that as it moved, the light hitting it from Dean's flashlight beam sent flashes of fiery crimson and orange through it. In the surface of the teardrop, near the bottom, an intricate, looping symbol was carved. Dean wasted no extra time gazing at the pendant, but immediately shoved it in his pocket. The job was done, the pendant had been retrieved. Now they could get out of this creepy-ass mansion and back to – BOOM.

Dean whirled to face the doorway. The sound had come from the hall downstairs, where Sam was searching. Dean moved as quickly and quietly as possible out of the bedroom and down the hallway, halting at the top of the staircase. "Sam?" He called cautiously. No answer. Another dull boom shook the house, triggering a rain of dust and plaster. "Sammy!" Dean shouted again, drawing his gun and bounding down the stairs, stopping in the middle of the downstairs corridor. "Sammy, where are you?" Dean's voice was edged with fear. Long, silent seconds ticked by. A sudden, loud clang resonated throughout the hall, like an aluminum baseball bat against a wall, then a thudding of something heavy hitting the floor came from the doorway nearest the living room. It sounded like Sam was fighting something off with the butt of his gun, but why wouldn't he just shoot it? Dean rushed into the room at the end of the hall, then skidded to a halt, eyes wide, trying to comprehend what he was seeing.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam was backed against the wall in the back of the room, his right leg bleeding from three claw marks slashed above his knee, and standing over him was a figure with shaggy black hair holding… _a frying pan_? Where the hell had this wacko come from? The figure turned around and grinned at Dean, his irises glinting crimson against the whites of his eyes. _Demon_. "Hello, Dean." He flicked his wrist and sent Dean flying against the wall. "Finally joining the party, are we?" With one clawed hand he kept Dean pinned against the wall, and with the other he shifted his grip on the heavy pan. "Sam!" Dean struggled against the force of the demon, but it was no use. The demon looked down to Sam, who was trying to move away, but was slowed by his injury. The demon, momentarily ignoring Dean, grabbed Sam's shoulder, threw him into the middle of the room, and advanced on him as he tried again to get away. Dean, freed briefly, scrambled to his feet and grabbed the gun, which he'd dropped when the demon had force him against the wall. But by the time he had grabbed the gun it was too late; as Dean raised the gun to fire, the demon swung the frying pan, catching Sam in the side of the head. Sam collapsed with a thud onto the wood floor, unconscious, and the demon returned his attention to Dean. He raised his arm, and forced Dean back against the wall. Smirking, he looked admiringly at the dull metal of the pan. "You know, these are actually really fun to use," The demon said, pride glinting in his eyes. "Plus, they're, you know, useful against Winchesters. I'll have to remember that." Tossing the pan aside, he held out his hand. "Allow me to formally introduce myself – I am Varak." He grinned. "I need you to give me that pendant you've got in your pocket." Dean gritted his teeth and snarled back, "then you'll have to take it." Varak smirked. "Oh, I'm afraid I can't. The laws governing the pendant state that I cannot force it from you. You have to give it to me willingly." He clasped his hands behind his back. "So I'll offer you a choice, Dean. You can give it to me now, and I promise, no one will get hurt. But refuse this offer, and I will hurt you." Dean's brow furrowed. "You said you can't force it from me. Torture counts as force." Varak threw back his head suddenly and laughed. "Oh, no, I'm not going to torture _you_. For one thing, you're probably right – if I try to torture you into handing it over, the pendant may not work the way I need it to. Second, It'd take forever to get you to crack under physical pressure. Which is why we're going to torture Sam instead." Seeing Dean's attempt to immediately hide his despairing expression, Varak rolled his eyes and frowned. "Oh, come on, Dean," he hissed, "Think about this. It's a bargain – of sorts. You get all the time you need to make up your mind – no pressure. But on the flipside, the longer you take to decide, the longer Sam's going to suffer for it." The pressure pinning Dean's right arm lifted. "You have ten seconds to decide whether you both walk away, no questions asked, or whether we resort to option B. One. Two. Three…" Dean's mind was whirling, trying to think of a plan. Obviously, the pendant was extremely important to the angels, and they had stressed that it could do terrible things in the wrong hands. He also knew that this demon, even if Dean did hand over the pendant, wasn't going to simply let them walk away. Demons didn't work like that. Even though it was going to hurt both of them, Dean knew that keeping the pendant and waiting for a break was better than surrendering. His hand had crept to his pocket while he'd thought, and Dean withdrew it, bringing his arm back to his side, and brought his defiant gaze to meet the demon's as the counting finished. "…Ten."


	4. Chapter 4

** Hi, guys; this chapter is a little longer than my previous ones, because I did a little better job of splitting up the paragraphs, and I also really didn't want to split it into two extremely short ones. I'm also going to be incorporating feels into at least the next couple of chapters, mainly composed of Dean trying to fix the repercussions of his choice. So enjoy!**

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><p>"…Ten."<p>

The demon's red eyes narrowed. He moved his hand a bit, effortlessly pinning Dean's arm back against the wall. "Not going to cooperate? Shame… although I admit that I was expecting this." Out of the corner of his eye, Dean could see Sam starting to stir behind Varak. But he couldn't risk glancing at him – he needed as much time as possible to talk with the demon before he realized that Sam was awake. But those hopes evaporated as Sam groaned, now conscious enough to feel pain. The demon heard it and whirled, grinning, to face him. "Well, look who's back just in time," Varak sneered, and began to raise his arm.

_"No!_" Dean shouted, struggling against the demon. "Shut up, Dean," Varak called over his shoulder flatly, and forced him against the wall harder. Raising his arm so it stretched out in front of him, Varak forced the half-conscious Sam against the opposite wall. "Wait," Dean begged, "Don't hurt him. Please."

Varak turned to look over his shoulder, his eyes narrowed to slits and a horrible grin stretched across his features. "I gave you a chance," he growled, "and you refused it. It seems that you weren't getting the message before. I need that pendant. I cannot let you give it to the angels, because it will be my destruction. And I warned you of the consequences. So now you will watch." He turned back to Sam and raised one hand, now clawed, to rest against his shoulder. "Remember, Sammy," Varak whispered, speaking softly, but sharply enough that Dean could hear his every word, "it's because of your brother that we're here. He could've cooperated, and you would have walked away. He knew if he refused that he would hurt you, and did it anyways. Dean _chose_ this." And with that he slashed his claw-tipped hand down across Sam's chest.

Sam gritted his teeth, grimacing in pain, and Dean shut his eyes tightly, clenching his fists. Though he couldn't see it, Dean could still hear the sounds of Varak tearing at Sam, and it was ripping him apart. He felt like a coward, not even able to face the consequences his actions had led to, but he just couldn't watch this. Through his concentration blocking out the sounds, Dean suddenly felt the pressure holding him to the wall slowly start to lessen as the demon focused his attention on Sam, and he found he could lift his arms a few inches from the wall. His hand shot to his pocket, where the pendant was nestled, and he brought it out, clenched tightly in his hand. He willed its power forth, praying that anything would happen, anything at all to get Varak off Sam. _C'mon, Cas_, he thought, _please don't tell me this thing only works for angels_. Seconds passed, but nothing was happening. Dean's heart began to sink – Suddenly the pendant and the cord holding it blazed with heat so intense that Dean almost dropped it. He finally opened his eyes to look at the pendant; the looping symbol carved into the surface was aglow with fiery light, and within the glassy teardrop, crimson flames danced. He smirked. _Thanks for answering, Cas_.

Dean coughed, and the demon whipped around. "Finally ready to gi—" Varak's grin dropped from his face and his eyes widened as he beheld the sight of Dean, holding in his outstretched grasp a blazing reservoir of angelic power. "How—How did you—". Suddenly, he wasn't the confident, snarky demon he had been mere seconds ago; fear shone, plain as day, in his eyes. Behind Varak, Sam slid down the wall, the demon's grip loosening. "Certain kinds of demons," Dean hissed coldly, repeating the words Castiel had told him, "trigger the angelic reservoir, unleashing its power upon them." And with that he thrust his arm further out, pushing forward the power of the pendant. Sparking, crimson flames shot from the carved symbol, engulfing the demon's rigid form. Varak suddenly shrieked in pain and fury, the sound grating against Dean's ears, then cut off suddenly. The flames died, and the pendant darkened, cooling rapidly. Dean panted, sighing with relief. The demon was gone.

Looking up, Dean's gaze swept the room, searching for his brother. Behind where the demon had stood, Sam was slumped, lying against the wall. Dean's eyes widened. "Sammy!" He ran across the room and knelt by Sam. His eyes were closed, his skin pale, his chest barely rising and falling. "Sammy," Dean choked out, trying to hold back tears as he took in the deep cuts slashed across Sam's chest and arms. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry.". As Dean knelt by Sam's unconscious form, trying over and over to apologize, he heard sudden footsteps echoing in the hall. Shooting into a standing position, Dean snatched up his gun and approached the doorway. A shadowed figure stepped into the doorframe; and though Dean couldn't see his face, he could make out the low-hanging silhouette of the trenchcoat he wore. "Cas," Dean breathed, the name filling him with relief. Castiel cocked his head at a slight angle. "You have retrieved the pendant, but I sensed that you were in pain," he said with his usual flat, serious tone. Dean nodded, biting his lip. "But you are not hurt…" Castiel's brow furrowed in confusion as his eyes swept over Dean, trying to figure out the problem. His face fell as he realized what was wrong. Cas raised his gaze to meet Dean's.

"Where is Sam?"


	5. Chapter 5

"Sammy, come on, wake up."

Dean gently shook Sam's shoulder; Castiel stood a few yards away, watching in statue-like stillness and silence. Dean turned to look at Cas. "You're _absolutely certain_ that you can't do anything?" Cas frowned, slowly shaking his head. "I doubt that I will be much good against demon wounds of this kind. I have never seen a demon with claws like those you described." Dean exhaled in frustration and dropped his head into his hands."But I do know," Castiel continued, "that we need to leave here soon. Demons have no doubt been aroused by the usage of the reservoir, and its' last location of use is here. I am not sure how to heal Sam, but staying here will not help us." Dean nodded; Cas was right.

"Alright then," he answered, getting up off the floor, "I'm gonna need your help to get Sam out of here, though." Dean crossed back over to Sam, Cas following this time. While Dean stood close by, Cas knelt by Sam's side and pressed two fingers gently against his temple. Sam groaned and his eyes fluttered open, then closed tightly again as he winced in pain. Dean breathed a sigh of relief as he knelt down to help Sam up. Dean and Cas each draped one of Sam's arms around their shoulders, and slowly, they helped him limp out to the car. Cas sat in the Impala's passenger seat while Dean helped Sam get into the back. Then he jumped in on the driver's side and revved the engine. Soon they were hurtling back down the dark highway. Cas frowned, glancing over at Dean, who was hunched over the steering wheel, determination on his face. "Dean?" Cas asked quietly, "You are driving fifteen miles per hour above the legal speed limit. "So _what_?" Dean snapped, then stopped, surprised at himself for being so harsh. "I—I'm sorry, Cas," he apologized. "It's just… I'm worried about Sammy." Castiel nodded, but did not reply, and Dean drove on in silence for almost half an hour more, his speed slowly but steadily increasing all the while.

They finally pulled into the parking lot of a tiny motel around two A.M., and the first thing Dean said once they arrived was "Cas, I need you to check us into a room." "…Why, Dean?" Dean motioned to his jacket, which was marked with burn spots, grime, and blood. "I don't need the guy who runs the place thinking I'm a psycho murderer or anything, and I think you can do it." Cas looked nervous, but he nodded, and got out of the car. Dean watched him walk slowly away, then hopped out and went to the trunk. He grabbed a gun, extra salt, and medical supplies, and stuffed them into a duffel bag, which he slung over his shoulder to wait for Cas. A few minutes later, Castiel was heading back to the Impala. Dean waited for him to return to the car; when he was close enough, Dean threw him the duffel bag. "Here – get to the room, put this in there." Cas frowned. "Do you need help with Sam?" Dean shook his head. Cas stood there for a moment, then replied "We are room six." He turned, and walked back towards the motel.

Dean turned back to the Impala and opened the back door. Sam was lying across the backseat, sleeping. Dean shook his shoulder gently, and whispered "Sammy? You there?". Sam opened his eyes tiredly and heavily dragged himself up into a sitting position, but as he tried to stand, his injured leg buckled and he fell to his knees. "Sam!" Dean exclaimed, immediately wrapping an arm around Sam's waist and helping him up. "Well… I feel _great_," Sam croaked with a weak smile. "Come on," Dean huffed irritably, and the two Winchesters started across the parking lot.

They made relatively quick progress, Dean helping Sam limp towards the faded number six painted onto their motel room door. The night was unusually quiet around them, the air windless and still. For the first time since they had first gotten out of the Impala at the manor, the tension and fear seemed to begin to fade; it was over. Safety lay just ahead, behind the peeling paint of the motel door.

Halfway there, something went wrong. Sam suddenly began to lean more heavily on Dean, his steps slowing; looking over, Dean could see that Sam was wincing, gritting his teeth tightly to keep from crying out in pain. "Sam, promise me you ain't gonna pass out," Dean said, his tone joking, but his eyes concerned. "No – I-I'm fine—" Sam managed to gasp out, his breathing becoming more shallow. _No, _no_. We're so close. Not now. _"CAS!" Dean half-shouted, "OPEN THE DOOR, NOW!" Sam was suddenly losing strength rapidly, and soon they stopped moving altogether. When Cas opened the motel room door, he was met with the sight of Dean, standing helplessly fifteen feet from the door, trying to support a barely-conscious Sam. Castiel hurried out to Dean, and together they half-carried, half-dragged him inside and laid him on the bed nearest to the door. Dean staggered over to the couch on the other side of the room, dropping his head into his hands. From behind him, by Sam's bed, Castiel's voice asked, "What happened out there?".

Dean took a moment to reply. "I don't know," he replied doubtfully, his voice catching slightly. "We were going across the parking lot and Sam just… just started slowing down, like something was sapping his strength." At these words, worry flickered in Cas's eyes – it didn't go unnoticed by Dean. "You think it was that demon?" he pressed, his tone bordering on urgent. Cas's eyes were downcast. "I am not sure, Dean. As I've already made clear, I do not know exactly what this demon is, or what it is capable of. But the possibility that the wounds the demon inflicted—" Dean held up a hand to silence him. "I was just asking for confirmation, Cas, not a full report." Castiel suddenly looked embarrassed. "I am sorry." Silence ensued for a few moments, broken finally by a frustrated sigh from Dean. His head back in his hands, he said, "Cas, I've been hard on you tonight, harder than I should've been. It's just that the past few hours… I'm just sorta strained right now." When a few seconds passed in silence without a reply, Dean lifted his head and turned to find himself facing empty space. Cas had left – he was alone. Closing his eyes, Dean lay down on the couch, hoping, in vain, for sleep that would not come.

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><p><strong>The next chapter should be up soon; hopefully I'll find time in the next week to work on it. In the meantime, I'd love to see a review about how you're liking the story so far.<strong>


	6. Chapter 6

**Hi again! Really sorry this one took so long, I'm currently trying to balance this with school and making four paintings in a week. Plus the draft was deleted twice, and the dialogue was presenting issues. But without further excuses, here's the chapter. Enjoy!**

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><p>Sam remained dead to the world for the entirety of the following day, and during that time Dean didn't leave the motel room once. He passed the time alternating between three things: pacing around the room, trying to keep his mind off Sam; lying on the couch, eyes scrunched tightly closed, trying – and failing – to sleep; and standing silently by Sam's bedside, trying to think of things to say. He needed to apologize – <em>truly<em> apologize – to Sammy. Sobbing and whispering "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," to his unconscious body just wasn't enough. But every time he stood there, he couldn't find words that really meant anything. And so, frustrated, Dean would turn around and go back to pacing the room again.

Castiel also made no reappearances. Was he angry at Dean because of his harshness last night, or just busy with angel duties? Either way, Dean found himself beginning to miss Cas as the day wore on. He would've enjoyed some company, even if it was just the silence that so often accompanied Cas's presence.

As the light trickling into the room from outside slowly began to fade, it hit Dean just how exhausted he really was. The stress of the day's waiting had worn him out, and he now found it unusually difficult to keep his eyes open. So Dean made his way to the couch once more, ignoring the other, unoccupied bed. Lying down felt good, Dean decided as his eyes closed. And almost as soon as the thought had crossed out of his mind, Dean sank into deep, welcoming sleep.

When Dean woke hours later, it was dead night. A glance at the lit-up screen of his watch told him that it was two-thirteen in the morning. Though he was still tired, and the lingering effects of sleep still hung about him, Dean doubted that he'd be able to drift off again. So standing, he walked around for a minute, stretching out his limbs in the dark. Then heading back over to the couch, Dean sat heavily, massaging his temples. He was still for a while with his eyes closed, his mind blissfully blank. He had been dreaming, but about what he couldn't quite recall – honestly, he wasn't sure if he even _wanted_ to remember. In the midst of Dean's relative peace, a sound made its way to his ear. Eyes snapping open, Dean sat bolt upright and strained to hear through the silence. A few moments passed without so much as a whisper from the wind outside. Then he heard it. A soft moan, barely audible, coming from across the room behind the couch.

_Sammy._

Immediately Dean was on his feet, literally jumping over the couch instead of going around it in his hurry to get across the room quickly enough. _Quickly enough for_ what_, exactly?_ He thought to himself only after he had reached the bed. He straightened. Was he really this desperately worried about Sam, that the slightest sign of his regaining consciousness sent him racing to his side?

Yes. He was.

Dean knelt by the bed, his gaze sweeping over Sam's still, dark silhouette. "Sammy?" he whispered, "You there?" His hand, shaking slightly, reached out to grasp Sam's. His hand was cold, but Dean gripped it tightly, holding onto his brother like it was the only thing keeping him alive. "Please, Sammy."

Sam, seeming to finally hear Dean, turned his head towards the source of his voice. His eyes slowly fluttered open. Dean exhaled a sigh he realized he'd been holding in since the previous night, when the long wait had begun. Now he could've laughed, his relief was so sudden and overwhelming. "D'n?" Sam slurred. The corners of Dean's mouth tugged upwards slightly. "Yeah, Sammy, it's me. You have no idea how long I waited for you to come back around."

Sam squinted past Dean, into the dark interior of the room. "Where… Where's Cas? It's three in the morning, I've only been out for an hour…" he trailed off as Dean began laughing. "What?" Sam asked weakly, his brow furrowing. "What's so funny?" Dean, regaining his composure but still grinning widely, replied "Sammy… you've been unconscious for a _day._"

The horror in Sam's expression was almost comical. "An _entire_ – you're not serious. Cas would've worked his mojo or something –"Dean shook his head, his smile fading. "He couldn't. He didn't even recognize the demon that did the damage. Had never seen anything with claws like that, or the eyes that he had… But he was most worried about the fact that he couldn't heal you. Sammy, don't _ever _do that again – the anxiety almost killed me."

Dean paused, then continued. "Sammy, after the demon was gone, I thought for a second you weren't gonna make it – you were white as a sheet, barely breathing –" Dean's voice cracked and he stopped speaking, lowering his head. His muffled voice muttered, "And then when we were going across the parking lot… Just when I thought we were heading out of the storm, you collapsed and we had no idea what happened to you." Sam shook his head slightly. "I… I don't remember that. Not clearly, at least. The only thing I remember clearly from last night is walking into the room and getting beat up by a demon… then there was a lot of black. After that everything is blurry and indistinct. What the hell _happened _last night?"

Dean swallowed. "Do you want to know?" Sam hesitantly nodded.

"Okay, then. So I heard a loud _boom_ from upstairs…"

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><p><strong>I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I may wrap this into a short fic and end it next chapter, or keep delving into the character of Varak, the mysterious demon, and include more Cas, more emotional Dean, and more angst! Reviews are good, and if you've enjoyed the story up to this point and want more, be sure to tell me that. Until then however, DFTBA!<strong>


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